It was never this bright in Tulsa
by gloryblastit
Summary: Dally and Johnny go to California, but does fate have the same things in store? Destiny vs. free will. Outsiders and Karate Kid crossover.
1. Default Chapter

Dally glanced around the Curtis' living room, yawned, and flipped the letter he'd been holding onto the coffee table. They were all here , the gang, but not for long.  
"Got a letter from my cousin in California," he said in his bored manner, not looking at anyone. But he knew where everyone was and what they were doing. He was alert, hyper alert, like he had been living on the streets of New York. Once it gets in you it's hard to change.  
Steve Randle was digging through the fridge like it was his own. Ponyboy was reading at the kitchen table, maybe something for school, maybe not. Kid always had his nose in a book. Two bit was swigging a beer and watching T.V. Darry and Soda were rushing around, finding clothes and swigging coffee, getting ready for work. Johnny was sitting in the living room, not watching T.V., just sort of starring off. The kid was a little spooky. So quiet. No one could get him to talk.  
"He wants me to go up there, help him out with something," Dally struck a match on the heel of his boot and lit a cigarette. Johnny looked longingly at it and Dally handed it to him, lit another one.  
"Anyone want to go with me?" Now he looked at them, disconcerting blue eyes lighting on each face for just a second.  
He knew, before he even asked the question, what the answer would be. And he was right.  
"California?" Darry said, his eyes squinting with worry, stress, strain. Not over Dally's invitation but over his life, working two jobs, trying to keep Soda and Pony out of trouble.  
"Yeah. San Fernando Valley. Some shit hole apartment in Receda,"  
They all declined, one by one, and for the reasons Dally knew already. Darry and Soda had to work. Steve didn't like to leave Soda or his little girlfriend Evie. Two bit had to babysit his little sister, not that he really did this but he couldn't just up and go to California. Ponyboy had school. That left Johnny. Johnny didn't give a shit about school, and his parents didn't give a shit what he did.  
"Johnny, you're coming with me," Johnny looked at him with those big black eyes and barely nodded.  
"When are we going?" Johnny said, not looking at Dally, looking instead at his ragged fingernails. He bit every one to the bloody quick. Kid was a nervous wreck.  
"Tomorrow morning,"  
It was set, then.  
  
* * *  
  
Dally managed to get a hold of Buck Merril's T Bird, some faded road maps, and money.  
He wanted to start early. It was a ways from Oklahoma to California, but he aimed to make good time.  
He realized, pulling away from Buck's in the red gold light of dawn, that he didn't know if Johnny had stayed at the Curtis', the lot, Two bit's, or his own house. Damn it. He tried the Curtis'.  
Darry was up, drinking coffee and reading the paper, reading glasses at the end of his nose like he was 40 instead of 20. Darry acted so fucking old. It grated on Dallas' nerves sometimes.  
"Johnny here?"  
Darry looked up, didn't smile, shook his head no. Dally left, cruised by the lot looking for Johnny curled up under newspapers, huddled in that old jean jacket. No one was there. Everyone was asleep at Two bit's, and Johnny wasn't there.  
Dally felt the sinking in his stomach. They all hated to go to Johnny's house and avoided it as much as possible. Johnny's parents were rough on him. They'd all heard him getting screamed at. When his mother got going, well, you could hear her clear across town. And they'd all seen him getting hit by his old man. Ponyboy had even seen Johnny whipped with a two by four.  
Dally thought for a second of leaving him behind. He could. He could do what he wanted. But it was a coward's way. He drove to Johnny's house.  
Johnny sat on the front steps waiting. His black hair was greased and shining in the sun. Dally ran a hand through his own shock white hair.  
Johnny saw him and ran over, breathing a little easier the further away he got from his house.  
"Looked all over for you, kid," Dally said, ruffling Johnny's hair despite the grease. Johnny pulled away and squinted his eyes. He didn't like to be touched.  
"Got a cigarette, Dal?"  
Dally handed him one.  
* * *  
  
Johnny slept most of the way. Dally didn't care. Didn't bat an eye at the mountains, the deserts, and the long stretch of corn and wheat fields that seemed to stretch on damn near forever.  
He let Johnny drive some. Buck would be mad as hell, especially with Johnny grinding the gears. He didn't even have a license.  
They stopped at a diner at two in the morning for coffee and to rest a bit. Dally drank the coffee black. He was planning on driving through the night. Johnny had his coffee half filled with cream and five sugers.  
It was dark, the weird black sky of an area they weren't used to. For all his worldliness Dally had only been to Tulsa and New York. Johnny had never even left his damn neighborhood. Looked around at everything wide eyed.  
In the car Johnny leaned his head against the glass and was almost immediately asleep again, despite the coffee. Dally drove and the look on his face was stoic, pale eyes squinting from the glare of the occassional on coming car.  
  
* * *  
  
By the time they arrived at the apartment complex where Dally's cousin Bill lived they were both road dusty and cranky. Dally had been snapping at Johnny for the last 50 miles and Johnny accused him of getting them lost.  
"God damn it, Johnny! You have the fucking map! Find the god damn road already!"  
"How the hell am I supposed to know where he lives? He's your fucking cousin!" But Johnny tried, folding and unfolding the map, turning it this way and that to find the combination of streets that would bring them to the complex.  
When they finally parked behind the building Johnny slammed the car door hard and Dally glared at him. 


	2. ch2

A/N: Thank you for the review, I'm glad you like it.  
  
"You wreck this car and I'm not protecting you from Buck," Dally said, already scanning the apartments for number 10. The doors all opened to the outside like a cheap motel. The building was painted a faded blue and all the doors were green. You didn't see such colors in Tulsa.  
There was a huge gated swimming pool filled with three feet of algae green water, plastic toys with algae clinging to them like fur floated in slow arcs in the shallow water.  
He found apartment 10 and kind of shoved Johnny in that direction. Johnny stumbled but he saw it ,too, and walked toward it.  
The apartment was small. You entered in the living room and off that was a tiny kitchen nook lined with fake pine cabinets. Bill sat at the little table, a cigarette dangling from his fingers.  
He was stunningly blond, like Dallas, a shade of blond that was always startling on an adult.  
Bill had been to Tulsa to see Dallas once or twice and knew the gang out there. He recognized Johnny, scared rabbit look, jumpy kid.  
"Dallas. Thank God," Bill said, taking a deep drag on the cigarette. Dally noticed his hands were shaking.  
"What's the trouble, Bill?" Bill glanced around, almost trying to peer out his front door. Dallas craned his neck to look out the door, too. Nothing out there but potted plants and sand.  
Bill's gaze came to rest on Johnny, who was chewing on his fingernail and lightly kicking the wooden leg of the couch. Bill glanced back at Dallas. Dallas got the hint.  
"Johnny," Dallas said sharply. Johnny snapped his head up and quit chewing on his nail.  
"There's a beach not too far from here," Dallas said, his tone softening a bit, "why don't you hang out there for awhile?"  
Johnny nodded and left without a word. Dallas sat at the table with Bill, pulled out a cigarette and lit it, and leaned over the table, when he spoke his voice was low, almost menacing,  
"Now how about telling me what the trouble is?"  
  
* * *  
  
Johnny squinted against the sun. It was never this bright in Tulsa. His jacket was lying in the backseat of Buck's car but he was still hot in his black tee shirt and jeans. It was the tail end of summer but in Southern California that meant hot. The sky was a surreal blue. Johnny starred up at it and got dizzy. He looked down and saw white spots floating and bursting in his line of vision.  
He wished Dallas had remembered to stop for breakfast.  
The beach was full. Full. Little kids running around in soggy diapers and shiny bathing suits. Overweight but tanned adults in sunglasses and big hats sitting under sun umbrellas. Teenage girls, their skin glistening from the water and the sand, running to and from the edge of the waves. There were teenage boys, tan, lean muscles pumping as they ran after a soccer ball.  
Johnny almost went back but he'd seen the look on Dally's face. Go to the beach, he'd said, and meant it. And if he came hunting for him and he wasn't there...  
So he stepped on the beach, not used to the way all the sand shifted when he took a step, not used to the way the sun reflected off the water and sand all at once into his eyes. He was getting a headache.  
He took off his tee shirt and his sneakers and socks. He was still hot. He contemplated cutting his jeans into shorts with his switch blade but decided against it.  
The sun was dipping lower over the blue horizon line, red sun almost sinking into the Pacific. Johnny gazed out at the ocean, not used to the effect the ocean had. He felt calm, for once. Like he wouldn't jump out of his skin if someone spoke or moved suddenly. He liked all these miles between him and his parents, and those damn socs. Always hasseling him for nothing, no reason.  
"Hey," a soft girl's voice broke his thoughts. He looked up at her but said nothing. She was a California girl, alright. Blond hair bleached blonder by a relentless sun, dusting of freckles almost lost in her tan, blue eyes clear and wide and open.  
"Are you related to him?" she said, pointing towards the boys still chasing that soccer ball in the last of the light.  
They were a ways off and there were about seven of them. Johnny squinted in their direction. They were dark and indistinct.  
"Who?"  
"Him. That boy with the Spanish kids from Receda,"  
"No. Why would you think that?" She sunk down next to him and studied his face. He looked away.  
"Well, I," she looked puzzled, still trying to look at him but he wasn't facing her, "you look just like him,"  
Johnny shook his head. She shrugged, got up, ran back to her friends who were starting a little fire.  
The boys with the soccer ball finally gave it up. There was no light left. Near the girls they made a little fire, too.  
The two groups started roasting hot dogs and Johnny's stomach growled. He hadn't eaten all day. Should have asked Dal for some money.  
The sand was getting cool and Johnny shrugged back into his shirt. He heard music from a radio the California blond girl had brought.  
He thought he'd go back. He couldn't see the water anymore but he could hear it, soothing.  
Out of the corner of his eye he caught movement. One of the boys had kicked the soccer ball over to the girls. Johnny watched a kid in a red sweatshirt go to retrieve it, flirt with the California blond. He shook his head. These people seemed to live such privileged lives without even knowing it. They lived near this ocean and that radio! Johnny wanted it, as he wanted most material things his parents would never afford. Mustangs. Corvairs. Madres shirts. Boom box radios. Even a T.V. His parents didn't even own a T.V.  
Johnny was pulling his socks on when the soccer ball rolled near him. Close enough to touch.  
"Hey, man, can I have that?" Johnny looked up at the sound of the voice. It was the kid in the red sweatshirt who had been flirting with the blond. His black hair was shorter than Johnny's and not greased and so kind of fluffed up a bit.  
This was the kid the girl had been talking about. Johnny saw the resemblance. 'He looks like me if I was happy,' Johnny thought. He tossed him the ball. 


	3. ch3

A/N: Thank you for the reviews. To answer the question about the Karate Kid, yep, it is. I just felt like colliding the worlds of The Outsiders with the Karate Kid, what with Johnny and Daniel looking so similar..;) ...  
  
"Thanks," he called, running off, back to the girl. He stopped short a few feet beyond Johnny and watched as dirt bikes roared onto the beach, kicking up sand. Johnny put his sneakers on and stood up, brushing the sand from his jeans. He looked at the dirt bikes, too.  
The kids on them had the same bearing the socs back home had. Johnny knew it all too well. 'We own this and can do whatever we want,' the cocky sliding stops and revs and shiny helmets and fancy leather outfits said.  
The kid in the red sweatshirt held the ball against his hip and stared at the new development. Faintly Johnny could hear one of the California socs talking to the California girl. It was faint because of the music and the wind and the reving bikes and the ocean. They were in fact yelling, screaming at each other.  
"I don't want to talk! We've been over all of this before!" the girl said. The kid in the red sweatshirt took a few tentative steps towards them.  
"Give me back my radio!" she said. Johnny backed up. He wanted to grab the kid's red sweatshirt sleeve and tell him to leave it alone. Trouble. But he was heading towards them.  
"You promise we'll talk?" the soc said.  
"Yeah!"  
He gave her the radio back and she flipped it on, turned it up louder than before. The soc grabbed it and threw it to the ground.  
Johnny had seen enough. He took off.  
  
* * *  
  
After Johnny left the apartment Dally pieced together the situation from Bill's nearly incoherent rambling.  
Apparently he owed some money to people of ill repute and all attempts to raise it had come to naught.  
"And now," Bill said, sucking on his cigarette and trying to look out the windows and door all at once, "they may be coming for me,"  
"What do you want me to do?" Dally said.  
"Talk to 'em, or, or, I don't know..."  
Dally raised an eyebrow skeptically. Talk to them? What good would talking to a punk from Oklahoma do?  
"Bill, who are these people? Like loan sharks or the mafia or something?"  
Bill shrugged, eyes filled with anxiety, and let Dally come to his own conclusion.  
"I'm going to get some beer," Dally said, suddenly annoyed with Bill and his scared face and his shaky hands. He stalked off, feeling his pockets for money and his I.D. card, which gave his age as 21 instead of 17.  
He came back shortly with the beer, feeling a bit displaced by the palm trees and balmy air.  
"Here," he said, glaring at Bill and holding out a beer. Bill was on his millionth cigarette and set it in the ashtray to flip the cap from the beer. They both set to drinking, and waiting for Johnny to come back.  
  
* * *  
  
Johnny was wishing for a cigarette. He'd smoked his last and had no money.  
He was sure the kid at the beach was going to get beat up. You don't mess with socs when they're angry over girls.  
It wasn't late and he didn't feel like going back to Bill's yet. He wasn't hungry anymore. It had been so long since he ate that his stomach felt shrivelled up and quiet. But boy did he want a cigarette. He could feel the desire for one knawing at the edges of his brain.  
Beyond the beach was a boardwalk and along that were tee shirt stores, convenience stores, restaurants, street side cafes, and bars.  
It was a lot of lights, more neon than Oklahoma, and a lot of people. Johnny walked along, trying not to get jostled. He ducked into a bar.  
The bar smelled strongly of whiskey and gin. Reminded him of Buck's place and those honky tonk parties. This bar was filled with college kids, laughing, drinking, with a backbeat of moody poprock.  
"Can I get a cigarette?" he said as softly as he could but loud enough to be heard over the music. He'd asked a girl with short blond hair and dark eye shadow. She tossed him one. He thanked her and left.  
Outside again Johnny noticed the warm air and the palm trees, too. And like Dallas he felt out of place, displaced, like he didn't belong here. Then again back in Oklahoma with his mom always screaming at him and his dad always hitting him and the damn socs jumping him every chance they got, he didn't feel like he belonged there, either.  
Johnny figured he'd sneak into a movie. It was easy. He did it all the time at home. He figured he's seen more movies than Ponyboy because Pony always went to school. Johnny hardly ever did, he'd sneak into a movie.  
  
* * *  
  
The kid in the red sweatshirt was Daniel Larusso. Everyone always called him Daniel, never Danny or Dan. It was because of his mother always calling him Daniel. And it was because of her they were in this shit hole, Raceda.  
Johnny had been right. He did get beat up trying to defend that girl. She was so beautiful, with soft blond hair and clear blue eyes and that smile. And she had liked him, Daniel was sure of it. Now what did she think?  
His cheeks flushed hot with embarrassment, barely able to breath, his stomach hurt so bad. He lay on the beach spitting out sand. He could barely see out of one eye and he winced when he tried to touch it.  
He heard the girl coming over to him after Freddy and his friends left, laughing and shaking their heads. Freddy had thought he, Daniel, knew karate. What did he know?  
"Are you alright?" the girl, her soft sweet voice filled with pity. Damn it, why'd this have to happen? He spit out sand and tried to get enough of his breath back to talk.  
"Just leave me alone," he gasped. His breath wasn't back yet.  
"I...I can help you..."  
"No. I'm o.k. Just leave me alone," he said, every word a struggle around the burning pain in his stomach and lungs.  
"C'mon, it's best to leave him alone," another girl said, gently tugging on the blond's sleeve. She left, and the dirt bikes roared back, kicking sand onto his face. Daniel lowered his head onto his arm. He hated it here.  
He layed there for a long while, it seemed to him. Everyone left and he was alone. But finally he could breath, and he picked himself up and headed back to his apartment with the broken swimming pool. It was a shit hole, the old lady he'd met yesterday was right. But him and his mom had lived in a shit hole in New Jersey, too. It was all they could afford.  
  
* * *  
  
Daniel pushed the wood gate door open and heard it squeak. He walked softly past the pool, toward the stairs that led up to his apartment. He didn't want to run into Freddy even though Freddy left the beach hours ago.  
He felt a sinking feeling when he heard an apartment door open. But it was apartment 10. Freddy lived in apartment 17.  
He saw two of the blondest guys he's ever seen. They were both tall with white blond hair and blue blue eyes. One looked nervous in a general way. The other one looked mean and angry. Both were starring at him. Great. What now?  
"What the hell happened to you?" the mean one said, grabbing his arm and pulling him.  
"Jesus Christ," the nervous one said, starring at his blackening eye.  
"I got in a fight," Daniel said, pulling away from the mean one.  
"Where the hell did you get those clothes?" the mean one said, looking at the navy blue sweatpants and red sweatshirt. Daniel didn't understand that. What was wrong with his clothes? So he shrugged and headed for the stairs.  
"Jesus Christ, Johnny, where are you going?" the mean one said this and looked angry enough to punch him. Oh, Daniel thought, they thought he was someone else.  
"I'm not Johnny," Daniel said, and walked quickly away, in case they didn't believe him.  
Johnny showed up about a half hour later and ate two bologna sandwiches before going to bed.  
"There's a kid who lives here that looks just like you," Dallas said, blowing out smoke and peering at Johnny through it.  
"Oh, he lives here? I met him at the beach,"  
Johnny had a couple more bites of his sandwich and Dally finished his fourth beer. Bill opened up another pack of Kools.  
"So," Johnny said, lighting a cigarette of his own, "did that kid get beat up or what?" 


	4. ch4

It was decided that Bill would come back to Oklahoma with Dally and Johnny. There was nothing else to do. Dallas didn't have the resources to take on these people. Let them just try to find him in Tulsa.  
Bill was all for leaving right away. Johnny shrugged, not caring one way or the other. But Dallas, who had done most of the driving, wasn't ready to go back.  
"Jesus, Bill, I drove halfway across the fucking country. I need a little vacation,"  
Bill nodded, but he wasn't happy about it, and suspected Dallas of not fully appreciating the seriousness of the situation. But you didn't argue with Dallas Winston, unless you wanted a few missing teeth. Cousin or no, you didn't argue.  
  
* * *  
  
A couple of days later Bill was almost out of his mind with worry. Out of his mind enough to bring up leaving again.  
"C'mon, Dallas, what are we hanging around here for?"  
Dallas shot him a glance and Johnny looked nervously from one to the other.  
"We're fine, Bill, we'll leave in a few days,"  
"I could be dead in a few days="  
Dallas slammed his fist down on the kitchen table, hard. Bill and Johnny got wide eyed.  
"I said we'd leave in a few days," Dallas' tone was quiet and his expression tight. Johnny recognized the look. Someone was going to get hit.  
Outside they heard a racket, like someone kicking metal garbage cans. Now Bill's face went white and his breathing came in ragged gasps. Johnny didn't look much better. Dally looked disgusted with both of them.  
"I'll go see what it is," Dallas said, getting up and brushing past Bill and Johnny.  
He came back in a few minutes. Bill was too petrified to speak. All he could do was hear his own scared voice in his ears, "they found me, they found me, they found me..."  
"What was it?" Johnny said, lighting a cigarette with shaking hands.  
"That kid that looks like you. He threw his bike away,"  
"What?" Johnny laughed. Threw his bike away?  
"Yeah. He's bitching to his mother about how much he hates it here and he wants to go home. Whiny ass punk, that kid,"  
Johnny nodded, not having an opinion about that kid one way or the other. He was just glad it wasn't someone trying to kill Bill and maybe himself and Dallas in the process.  
  
* * *  
  
Johnny got sick of Dallas and Bill arguing about leaving, and anything else they could think of. It was sunny, California sunny, the blue sky stretching on and on.  
"I've had it with you two," Johnny said, getting up, "I'm going out,"  
Outside the blue paint looked brighter with the morning sun shining full on it. Johnny wandered around a bit, petted a little dog panting under an old lady's fold out chair. He headed towards Buck's car and saw an old man taking a bike out of the dumpster. Johnny watched as he rolled the bike towards a little room near the parking spaces. The man noticed Johnny and regarded him cooly.  
"Why you no in school?" He had a slight accent, Japanese or Chinese, Johnny couldn't tell which. Johnny shrugged.  
"What're you doing with that bike?" Johnny said, watching the sun flash off the metal as the old man pushed it along.  
"Fix for boy looks like you,"  
"Why?" But the old man shook his head, indicating that it was too much to go into.  
"Why you no in school, you drop out or something?" Johnny lifted one shoulder and dropped it like a little kid would. Something in the question made him feel guilty about school. The man stared at him, wanting an answer.  
"Well, I, I don't know," He looked at his sneakers and kicked at the ground, "I just never seem to learn nothin' when I go,"  
"Ah, see," the old man said, opening the double doors and pushing the bike inside. Spider plants hung by the door, casting spider shadows along the walls.  
"School not only place to learn," He said, and motioned for Johnny to follow him into the room.  
  
* * *  
  
The phone woke Dally up. He groped for it.  
"Hello?"  
"Dally?" It was Soda. He was worried.  
"Yeah,"  
"Dally, listen, Pony ran away," Dally ran his hand through his hair and sighed. Rummaged in the drawer for his cigarettes.  
"What do you want me to do about it?"  
"We think, well, me and Darry think he's heading out there,"  
"What makes ya think that?"  
"He grabbed that letter from your cousin off the coffee table, said something about Johnny and California. So stay put until he gets there, alright?"  
"Alright,"  
Bill was still asleep but Johnny was up, fiddling with a tiny tree in a stone pot. Dally glanced at the tree and stubbed out his cigarette.  
"What is that?"  
"Bonsai tree," Johnny said, clipping at it with a pair of little scissors.  
"Where'd you get it?"  
"This old guy that lives here, he gave it to me," Dally sat at the table with Johnny and watched him clip at the leaves.  
"Ponyboy ran away, Soda just called,"  
"What, why?"  
"I don't know, you know that kid, no common sense. Anyway, he's probably heading here. We'll have to wait for him,"  
"Bill won't like it," Johnny said, never taking his eyes off the tree, twisting and pulling at it with the little scissors.  
"Well, that's tough, isn't it?" 


	5. ch5

Sunny every day. Johnny and Dally were starting to love the weather, the soft warm air and sun every day. Johnny was already deeply tanned but it was natural. Dally always figured he was Italian or Indian or Gypsy or something. But now Dallas' porcelin white skin was acquiring a bit of a tan.  
Johnny knew that they'd stay at least a week more because Bill pissed Dally off. Plus they had to wait for Pony.  
"C'mon, Bill, let's go out to the bars," Dally said. Bill looked at him with his worried eyes.  
"Yeah, I guess. Johnny, you want to come?" Johnny was watching T.V. and glanced up at his name.  
"Look at him, Bill. He looks 14. No one would serve him,"  
Dally dug in his pocket and pulled out some money, "Here, kid, go buy some groceries while we're gone,"  
"Groceries?"  
"Yeah, milk and bread and shit, alright? We'll see you later." And they left. Johnny sighed. Groceries.  
It was dark out. He hauled himself up. He'd better get to the store before it closed.  
He figured he'd cut across a field that would get him to the store quicker. It was a decision he came to regret.  
He heard the dirt bikes before he saw them and they circled him, surrounded him. One by one the five boys hopped off the bikes. Johnny glanced around wildly, his breath ragged gasps, and he ran. They caught him easily.  
"Hey, Daniel, where are you going, huh?" Daniel?  
They were tall and blond with ruddy arrogant faces. One held the back of his shirt. One of them kicked him in the stomach and Johnny doubled over.  
"That'll teach you to mess with Ali," one of them said. Johnny couldn't breath and he wasn't really listening to what they were saying.  
He was remembering the last time this had happened in Oklahoma. The socs had almost killed him. Gave him the scar on his cheek, broke his ribs, made him piss blood for a week. He was unconscious and nearly unrecognizable when Soda found him. He'd cried when they found him, as much out of relief as fear.  
Since that day he has carried the six inch switchblade in his back pocket. It won't happen again.  
The boys were laughing that mean laughter, vicious sound. The socs in Oklahoma sound that way, too. They were punching him and kicking him and talking about Ali and Daniel. Their ring leader, a boy nearly as tall and blond as Dallas, was named Johnny, too. Wasn't that nice?  
Johnny managed to slip his hand to his back pocket and he slid out his knife. He knew how to hold it so no one could see it, not until he touched the button that would release the blade.  
And he did release it and drove it right up into that blond Johnny's stomach.  
  
* * *  
  
"Johnny?" Dallas said this in a quieter tone than usual.  
Johnny sat on Bill's couch, his knees pulled up to his chest. The T.V. wasn't on. Neither were any lights. Dally saw him with the light from outside, the street lamps. He flipped the light switch.  
Johnny's knees were up and his arms wrapped around them and he rocked slightly. Dally had never seen that look on his face.  
"Johnny?" he said again and shook him gently. Johnny flinched and looked over at Dally and Bill.  
"I killed him," he said slowly, starring straight ahead again, "I killed that boy,"  
"What boy?" Bill said.  
"They were beating me up, these five socs on dirt bikes and I, I had to." Johnny looked at Dally and ignored Bill.  
"Good for you," Dally said.  
"It's just, I don't know what to do," Johnny said, trembling, still clutching the bloody switchblade.  
"The cops 'ill be here soon," Dally said matter of factly.  
"Where can he go?" he said to Bill.  
"Well, I know of an abandoned hippie church up in the redwoods," Bill said.  
"O.K."  
  
* * *  
  
Blond Johnny's friends ran, they all ran when Johnny stabbed him.  
"Oh my God, what are we gonna do?"  
"Call the cops, and an ambulance..."  
Blond Johnny was dead when the ambulance arrived and the cops questioned the remaining four. Dutch, the thick shouldered one with curly hair died a garish yellow, did most of the talking.  
"I know who did it," They were sitting in an interview room at the police station, their faces white and stricken.  
"Who?" The cop said calmly, using a tone he knew wouldn't alarm the boys.  
"His name is Daniel LaRusso, he just moved here,"  
"Were you there?"  
"Yeah," Dutch said, and the others nodded.  
The cop jotted down the information. Daniel LaRusso, 16 years old, Receda. Murder weapon, a switchblade. Consider suspect armed and dangerous.  
  
* * *  
  
Daniel was in a good mood. Despite those karate jerks who wouldn't get off his case, he was in a good mood.  
The Japanese maintenance man fixed his bike better than new. And more than that, Daniel didn't quite know how to explain it. He showed him how to clip those bonsai trees, he was teaching him.  
His mother put the tree Mr. Myagi had given her on the table, a centerpiece.  
"Doesn't it look nice there, Daniel?"  
"Sure, Ma," She smiled at him with a little sadness. She knew this move was rough on him and she also knew she couldn't really help him.  
There was a knock at the door, sudden and loud and authoritative. His mother opened it.  
"Yes?" Daniel saw two cops, their hair cropped short, clean shaven, serious.  
"Mrs.LaRusso?" One of them said, glancing at a little notepad with her name on it.  
"Yes?" His mother sounded polite but Daniel heard the worry deep in her voice.  
"Is your son, Daniel LaRusso, here?" At his name Daniel felt cold. 


	6. ch6

He hadn't done anything, had he?  
"Why?" The politeness was leaving her voice and her protective mother instincts were kicking in.  
"We have a warrant for his arrest. Is he here?" The voice of the cop was deadly serious. Daniel sat in disbelief. What was this shit?  
"What did he do?" His mother's New Jersey accent was getting thicker, as it did when she was scared, upset, or mad. Right now she was all three.  
"Ma'am, is he here?" She looked torn, not wanting to let them in, not knowing how to stop them.  
"Yes," she said heavily, and swung the door wide.  
"Daniel LaRusso?" the younger of the two questioned him. Daniel was beginning to feel that dreamy fear.  
"Yeah?"  
Then it was quick.  
"Stand up! Hands in the air!" They both pointed guns at him. He did what they said.  
"Turn around, hands on the wall!" He did this, too, catching a glimpse of his mother's worried face, feeling the adrenaline pumping through his body, a taste like pennies in his mouth.  
He felt them patting him down like in the movies, then his arms were roughly twisted behind his back and he was handcuffed.  
"You're being placed under arrest for murder," One of the cops said, and read him the Miranda Rights, just like a movie. On the way to the police station Daniel was too stunned to be angry.  
  
In a tiny interrogation room the two cops stared at him and he stared back with an expression both confused and sullen.  
"Where did you go after school?" One cop was kind of smiley, the other mean. Good cop, bad cop. Daniel rolled his eyes.  
"Just around,"  
"Just around?" the mean one said.  
"Yeah, like to the beach, and the mall, around,"  
"Was anyone with you?"  
"No,"  
The room had cement walls painted a strange light green. The table they sat at took up most of the room.  
"Look, I didn't kill anyone~"  
"We have witnesses that say you did," Smiley cop said this, looking down at his notes.  
"Well, so what? People can say anything! You're just going to believe whatever they say?" Daniel looked quickly from one cop to the other.  
"We have a dead kid in the field between the school and the building where you live," The mean cop said this, his voice edged with steel, "and four witnesses who say you did it,"  
Daniel hung his head. They had switched the handcuffs so his wrists were cuffed in front of him, and he stared at the cuffs, pulled his wrists against them until the metal dug into his flesh.  
  
* * *  
  
Lucille LaRusso, meanwhile, was going out of her mind.  
She paced the apartment, caught between screaming and crying.  
"What am I gonna do?" she questioned herself softly, running a hand through her curly hair. It wasn't a question of whether Daniel had done it, of course he hadn't. She recalled the calm way he was clipping at the bonsai tree tonight at Mr. Myagi's. To think that he had killed someone shortly before that was absurd.  
She paced, she sat, she paced again. She knew something was going on with him, all the black eyes and cuts, his irritability. But whatever the problem was he wouldn't solve it by killing someone.  
She sat in the middle of the couch and buried her head in her hands, wanting to cry but her eyes stayed bone dry.  
  
* * *  
  
Ponyboy Curtis had been hitchhiking for days. He was still fuming at Darry. The letter Dally had left on the table was crumbled in his hand. But he was getting closer.  
It seemed to him that Soda could do anything, it didn't matter. But not him, no. He couldn't be late, he couldn't forget anything, he couldn't do anything wrong without Darry blowing up at him.  
The sun was high overhead, it just beat down on him and he plodded on, sticking his thumb out everytime a car went by. He was mad at Johnny, too. He knew he shouldn't really be mad at him but he was anyway. How dare Johnny not be there when he needed him.  
A car slowed and then stopped. Ponyboy trotted over, the letter firmly gripped in his fist.  
"Hey, need a ride?" A pretty woman in her thirties, dirty blonde hair with honey gold highlights. She reminded him of his mother.  
"Yeah,"  
"Get in," She smiled a wide smile at him and he got in her car. He could smell the fake pine of the air freshener and the lighter scent of her perfume.  
"Are you going to Receda?" he said, a slight edge of desperation in his voice. He was tired of going from car to car.  
"Through there. I can drop you there," Ponyboy sighed in relief and shook a cigarette from his pack. He looked at the woman before he lit it, eyebrows raised, and she nodded her permission for him to smoke.  
  
* * *  
  
Johnny didn't understand why Dally wouldn't stay with him in the church.  
"I can't, kid," he had said, "I gotta stay at Bill's and see what's going on with the cops," Johnny had said he understood but he hadn't, had only nodded numbly for lack of another response.  
It was dark, a darkness unbroken by streetlights and house lights and store lights. Johnny wasn't used to such a complete darkness. The church was creepy, large and old and left to rot here in the woods.  
Animals made noises in the woods. Johnny listened carefully, trying to figure out what it was. Anything was preferable to thinking about that blonde kid in the field, all that blood on the grass, so much blood Johnny couldn't believe it.  
"There sure is a lot of blood in people," he whispered, the sound of his voice in the stillness making him feel more alone. 


	7. ch7

Daniel licked his lips and stared at the bars. The bail was high, thousands and thousands of dollars. His mother could never raise it. He'd talked to her on the phone and it had upset him to hear her so upset, like she was trying to hide the helpless feeling and she offered help he didn't think she could deliver.  
And the helpless overwhelmed feelings crashed over him, useless wishes running through his mind like spineless creatures, 'if only we'd never moved here, if only...'  
The arraignment was Monday. This was Friday night. They gave him a prison uniform since he'd be here for a while. He ran his fingernails down the rough material of the jumpsuit. He was lying on a metal cot that was bolted to the wall. It had an impossibly thin mattress and a rough gray blanket that you might use to cover horses. There were no windows, only the bars that looked out on the harshly lit hallway, and tiny cop offices beyond that, or guard offices. Daniel squeezed his eyes shut, he didn't know who the hell's offices they were and he didn't care. Didn't care about anything now that they were probably going to kill him because they thought he killed someone.  
John Lawence, Johnny, that's who they thought he killed. That blond asshole who kept beating him up, the King Karate guy, Ali's exboyfriend. He had a motive, he supposed. He hated that guy's fucking guts but he didn't kill him.  
His head hurt, hurt. It was like an adrenaline hangover and he felt wrung out, disconnected in a way he'd never felt before. He closed his eyes.  
  
Lucille sat on the couch, not crying. No time for tears now. She had to help her son.  
But they were so alone here. There was no one she could turn to for help...then she paused like an animal sensing a natural disaster in the wind...maybe there was someone.  
She went into the bathroom and washed her face with a cool washcloth, took a deep breath, tried to have faith. He didn't do it, he didn't do anything, it would be o.k. She looked at herself in the mirror, a stern looking middle aged woman, and she thought about how much Daniel looked like his father, a man he probably didn't remember ever seeing. She remembered meeting him 18 years ago, those dark eyes and black hair, how she had tried to act cool. And then when Daniel was a baby how violent he had become, fighting with her over stupid things and hitting her. And something shimmered in her mind. Daniel had always been so gentle, nothing like his father, but was it possible he could have killed that boy? No, no, she shook her head. It wasn't possible.  
She went downstairs, hoping that the Japenese maintenance man was still here.  
"Mr.Myagi?" she said, pushing on the screen door.  
"Ay?" he said, "come in, come in," She did, marveling at how the room looked the same as it did earlier when she was here with Daniel.  
"Um, Mr.Myagi? I, there's a problem..."  
"Please," he said, pulling over a stool, "sit, sit," She did, and glanced around at the bonsai trees twisted into strange beautiful shapes, the tools and scrap materials hanging from the walls.  
"Now tell me, what is problem?" She had his full attention, something she wasn't used to. People at work were always so full of their own little agendas that they only half listened to her.  
"It's um, it's," and she couldn't say it. She looked at Mr.Myagi's kind patient face and she started crying. Just a little at first, just a welling of tears, a sheen in her eyes. But then her head was in her hands and the sobs were wracking her and she cried like a child. Mr.Myagi waited, he did not say, "stop" or "what's wrong?" or any other useless thing. For that she could have kissed him. Oh, Daniel. Her poor little Daniel.  
"It's Daniel," she said when the storm had passed, and she sniffled and her breath came in little gasps from crying, "he was arrested,"  
  
The high school, looking the same as it had before, but inside everyone was buzzing. The news of Johnny Lawrence's murder ran rampent.  
Ali arrived at school blissfully unaware, but that would soon change. Everyone knew he was her exboyfriend. And everyone knew she liked Daniel LaRusso, though few people could see why.  
She walked toward the school, the little half smile on her face. Lisa, her skinny friend with the long colorless hair, ran toward her.  
"Ali! Did you hear!"  
"Hear what?"  
"Johnny was killed last night, and that new kid killed him," Lisa stared at her, taking the satisfaction of being the one to deliver bad news. Ali stood still, her brow furrowed.  
"What?"  
"Daniel killed him with a switchblade and he's in jail," She shook her head, the news didn't make sense. It didn't fit with what she felt inside of herself about Daniel. He couldn't kill anyone, he wouldn't, and Ali knew it.  
She couldn't concentrate all day in school.  
  
Ponyboy felt like shit, just overtired and worn out from hitch hiking all that way but he finally made it to the apartment where Dally's cousin lived. Apartment 10, apartment 10, he thought over and over, a record in a groove.  
He knocked and a suspicious voice called out, "Who is it?"  
"Ponyboy," he called back and he heard Dallas growl, "let him in,"  
The apartment was small and cheap looking, like he imagined the projects in Chicago or in New York looked. Dally and Bill sat at the table, smoking and sipping beer. He glanced around for Johnny, didn't see him.  
"Want a beer, kid?" Dallas said, not looking particularly glad to see him or relieved he made it here in one piece. But Ponyboy was used to that. He shook his head no at the offer of the beer.  
"But, man, I could use a cigarette,"  
He sat back on the couch and smoked, feeling the tingly feeling of the nicotine filling his brain.  
"Hey, Dal, where's Johnny?"  
"Johnny's not here. He got in some trouble," Ponyboy raised his eyebrows, not feeling quite worried yet.  
"Trouble?" The cousin, Bill, looked generally worried and uncomfortable but it didn't seem to be related to whatever Johnny got himself into. Dallas didn't elaborate.  
"C'mon, Dal, what happened? Where is he?" Dallas sighed and swung the door shut.  
"Alright, I'll tell you. But you keep your mouth shut about it. He got jumped last night and he killed one of the guys who did it,"  
"What? Glory, Dally, what? Is he in jail or somethin'?"  
"No, he's hiding out,"  
"Where? Is he o.k.?"  
"He's fine, he's safe, don't worry about it,"  
"I want to see him,"  
"No," 


	8. ch8

The arraignment went fine, as far as arraignments go, but Daniel didn't like it. He saw his mother there, her eyes red and puffy. He was lead in in handcuffs and the orange jumpsuit like he was guilty.  
The judge was old, with white hair and faded blue eyes. He looked mad to Daniel.  
A skinny woman with pale curly hair and a tailored skirt sat at a table in front of the bench. She would read a name and that person would come and stand behind a little gate and the judge would ask (rudely, in Daniel's opinion) if he or she understood English.  
They were teenagers, too, but dressed in regular clothes and sitting in the rows with his mother, not over to the side where he was with prison guards.  
Daniel felt nervous. He didn't want his name called and he didn't want to be asked if he understood English. He didn't do anything and it wasn't fair. It wasn't fair.  
"Daniel LaRusso," the woman called in her impersonal voice. The guard next to him nudged him toward the place where the others had stood.  
He went there and tried not to glare at the judge.  
"Do you understand English?"  
"Yes, sir," Head down, eyes down, he was almost shaking with anger.  
The charges were read and he was told he would go to a lock up facility to await trial because he was a minor and needed to attend school. The trial was months away. It was set for December 19.  
He didn't really care about going to the lock up place. It was just another prison.

Dally read the paper, a slow smile spreading across his face. Ponyboy slept on the couch, covered in an old afghan. Bill, who was hung over most mornings, tried to sleep it off in the bedroom.  
Dally read about the murder and the arrest of a 16 year old from Receda in connection with it. A 16 year old who probably bore an uncanny resemblance to Johnny.  
That kid, that whiny one who threw his bike in the dumpster. When those kids jumped Johnny they must have thought he was that other kid.  
"In a good mood, Dal?" Ponyboy said, noticing the wolfish grin on his face.  
"Looks like Johnny's off the hook," Dally said, shaking the paper, reminding Ponyboy of Darry.  
"Oh ,yeah?"  
  
"Yeah. They arrested another kid,"  
  
"Really?" Ponyboy was sitting up now and blinking, he tended to have a hard time waking up.  
  
"Yeah. There's a kid who lives here, he looks so much like Johnny you wouldn't believe it. They arrested him,"  
  
Ponyboy lit a cigarette and came over to read the article. Dally went to the fridge and got a beer.  
  
"But this kid didn't do it." Ponyboy said, his forehead wrinkling.  
  
"So fucking what?" Dallas said.Ali stared at her food. She was at the Encino Oaks Country Club with her parents. Fancy schmancy. A utensil for every course, cloth napkins, snooty waiters. Her parents were drinking expensive wine in expensive clothes.  
  
Ali hadn't wanted to come. They forced her to.  
  
"Really, Ali, all this moping around over that boy from Receda?" Her father had said. Receda. Receda was the slums where people lived in apartments. Gasp. Her parents didn't associate with people from Receda.  
  
"He's a nice boy, dad," she said, her voice petulant and whiny. She couldn't help it.  
  
"Oh, real nice. He murdered the Lawrence boy with a switchblade," Her father looked at her sternly. The Lawrences attended their country club, lived in Encino, the swanky hills. Her family didn't know them well but deemed them worthy of their association. And her parents had been pleased when she was dating him. He was rich, he was an all American boy.  
  
Ali pushed her food around, leaned her cheek on her hand. She felt sorrow that Johnny was killed. He hadn't been all bad, there was a decentness to him that had attracted her in the first place. She hadn't been as drawn to him as she was to Daniel. Part of it may have been that he was poor and from New Jersey, which was as foreign to her as Quatemala, and she knew it bugged the shit out of her parents that she dared to date outside of the Aryan upper middle class box she had always lived in.  
  
But it was more than that. She saw something in Daniel that was the same as herself. Something she couldn't describe or define but she knew, they were different. Different from everyone else.  
  
She knew in the darkest part of her heart that Daniel didn't kill anyone. Knew it.  
  
Ali sat up straight suddenly, caught her breath. She remembered something, remembered that kid on the beach the day she met Daniel. He looked just like him.  
  
He looked just like him.Mr.Myagi offered to go with Lucille to visit Daniel. The lock up facility was an hour away and her station wagon had a tendency to stall.  
  
"We take truck," he said, and helped her into his well used truck. But it ran perfectly.  
  
She was not o.k. Myagi could see that. She was glazed, post shock. Her son was locked up and had done nothing to warrant it.  
  
It was more common than she thought, Myagi knew. He thought back to World War II and the Manzanar Relocation Camp. That was the jail people were put in for being Japanese during World War II. No matter some of them had lived here all their lives, no matter that they were as American as Americans of Irish, Italian, French, Polish, Spanish, Chinese, African descent. And Germans. Hadn't they fought the Germans in World War II? Of course, because he had fought them, and while he did his wife and newborn son died in the Manzanar Relocation Center, complications of childbirth.  
  
So innocent people were imprisoned. Myagi also knew that the boy, Daniel San, would not know that either. He understood that Daniel San would be consumed with anger, and confusion, and disillusionment. He understood that Daniel San was finding out that the world was more unfair than he had ever dreamed. 


	9. ch9

It had been too long. Bill woke up early, despite the hangover or maybe because of it. The bright California sun streamed full force into the apartment, unimpeded by curtains.

It was early, only the old people in the apartment complex were stirring, gray little mice. Bill heard the old lady from New Jersey setting up her cheap fold out beach chair, talking to her dog and muttering to herself. He heard the Oriental maintenance guy puttering around. He heard Dallas' heavy breathing, not quite snoring. He slept on the couch, unruly white blond hair obscuring his face. The young kid, Ponyboy, slept on the floor. He was sort of curled into himself.

He owed money to people, more money than he could pay back, plus the interest that compounded daily. He'd had a constant low level of anxiety that seemed to twist and squeeze his internal organs. They'd find him. Of course they would. They were looking now. They were getting closer every day.

He spied Dallas' keys on the kitchen table, the sun touching them and making them gleam. He looked back at Dallas, his eyes still lightly closed. Bill could see the movements of Dallas' eyes beneath his lids. He was dreaming. The kid, Ponyboy, stirred as Bill snatched the keys from the table and he held his breath. Then he settled back into himself and Bill let his breath out slow. He walked softly to the front door and left, closed it with a soft click. Then he sprinted to the car Dallas had driven from Oklahoma.

.

.

.

.....................................x...........................x...................................x

Mr. Myagi thought Daniel san looked better than he had expected.

They were in the visitors' room, not separated by plexiglass and the black phone. Visitors are searched before they enter and leave, so contraband can not be exchanged. A guard watched them expressionlessly.

Lucille tried to appear brave, optimistic, and her fear was imperfectly masked. Daniel didn't say much but Mr. Myagi could see that he was trying to look hopeful for his mother's sake. 'They love each other,' he thought, 'they put on these false faces for each other.' Under his false hopefullness Mr. Myagi saw anger, and that was better than what he had feared; apathy.

Lucille rose to go. She placed her palms on Daniel's cheeks and turned his face toward her.

"Listen, sweetie, we're getting a lawyer, you didn't DO anything. Everything will be fine," This confident speech cracked a bit at the end, and she closed her eyes and kissed his cheek. He allowed himself to be kissed and nodded at her words, even though neither of them believed her.

Mr. Myagi handed Lucille the keys to the truck.

"You bring truck around. I be right there," He wanted to talk to Daniel san alone.

She nodded at him, looked directly at Daniel and said, "I love you," each word carrying equal weight and Daniel nodded, echoed her words, and she left.

When she left Daniel's fake optimism dissolved and Mr. Myagi saw the anger, it was in his posture, in the set of his jaw, blazing in his eyes.

"Mr. Myagi, I didn't do anything," He clenched his fists. Mr. Myagi nodded.

"You believe me, right?" His voice was thick with desperation and anger, and Mr. Myagi saw the dark shadows around Daniel's eyes.

"Ay, believe you. But Daniel san, must listen. In this place," Mr. Myagi made a gesture that encompassed the jail, perhaps the world, "does not matter what I think, what others think," Daniel was looking at him hard, some of the anger drained away, "only matters what you think, what is in here," He tapped Daniel's chest lightly, above his heart.

"They can not imprison you there,"

.

.

.

.................................x..................................x.......................................x

At home, watching sitcoms on her parents' large screen T.V., Ali knew with a knowing that was so certain it frightened her, that other kid killed Johnny.

That other kid. What did she know about him? Precious little. Not even his name. She had only spoken to him briefly on the beach that day. He had looked enough like Daniel that they could be twins. But his hair was longer than Daniel's, it had curled behind his ears and there was grease in it. He'd had a scar high on his cheekbone. When he spoke to her he had an accent, sort of southern or Texan, twangy, like country singers.

But after Johnny and his Cobra Kai groupies left and Daniel lay in the sand, telling her to leave him alone, the other kid was gone. Johnny had not seen him that day.

So what had happened? She knew Johnny had it in for Daniel because she liked him, and Johnny did not take losing lightly. Everything had been a macho contest with him, everything had winners and losers for him. For her love and affection Daniel had won so Johnny would make him lose, bully him mercilessly. And he'd beat him up several times after that day at the beach, him and his little followers. Five against one. Those were the odds Johnny liked. She'd seen all the black eyes and cuts and bruises on Daniel, and she'd seen the way he avoided Johnny and the rest at school.

So what had happened? They'd run across the other kid one night and tried to beat him up, thinking he was Daniel, but that other kid was some tough city punk from Houston or Atlanta or Tulsa or some other southern/Texan place and he killed Johnny. Yeah, that seemed about right.

Ali shifted on the couch, flipped through the channels. What about evidence? Was there no blood from the other kid? No fibers or anything?

Maybe she'd go to the police, tell them about this other kid.

.

.

.

..........................X............x...............................x

Dallas was trying to keep his cool. Ponyboy was eyeing him warily.

"Maybe he just went to get cigarettes or somethin'," Ponyboy said.

"Maybe," Dallas said tightly. The keys, the car, and Bill were gone. And Dallas didn't think they'd be coming back.

"Let's just wait a bit," Ponyboy said.

Dallas felt his temper rising, that out of control temper that had gotten him in so much trouble in the past. He wasn't just angry at the hassle he'd face with Buck if he comes back without the car or the hassle he'll have to go through to steal a car. Those things were a part of it but the real issue was Bill had crossed him.

He picked up the cheap lamp from the end table and threw it across the room. It shattered against the kitchen wall.


	10. ch10

Ali seethed. She wanted to wipe the smiles off these smug cops. She had gone to the police station.

"Let me get this straight," one of them said, smirking over her blond head to the other cop.

"There's this other kid who looks just like Daniel LaRusso, he's from Texas or somewhere around there, you don't know his name or anything else about him. Is this right?"

Ali nodded miserably. It sounded ridiculous. Worse, it sounded made up. Why in hell had she come here?

"Yet, yet, you know that he killed John Lawrence, is this also correct?"

She nodded again. She did know. But what good did it do?

"O.K. So what should we do? Search all of California, and Texas, and the states around Texas, for a nameless kid that looks like Daniel LaRusso?"

Ali glared. Well, what did she expect? What had she wanted them to do? She left, cheeks red, feeling stupid.

……………………..x……………….x………………….x………………………….

Mr. Myagi was coming to a similar conclusion but he had more information than Ali. He had taught Johnny how to trim the bonsai trees and had noticed the switchblade in his back pocket.

Daniel was being bullied here, but it was new and Daniel wasn't dealing with it well, was unable to defend himself, but was not at the point of killing his tormentors. Johnny, on the other hand, was not merely bullied but abused, savagely beaten on occasion, and was at the point of kill or be killed. Myagi had seen it in his eyes.

And now he was gone. But the boys he had come with were still here. Myagi saw them smoking near the pool, heard their out of place twang accents. But it wouldn't do to go to the police. Not yet.

………………….x………………x……………………….x………………………..

While Ali was at the police station Lucille was at a lawyer's office. He seemed young for a lawyer, and he looked Italian with his jet black hair and eyes, olive skin. But she knew by the tongue twister name on his gold name plaque that he was Greek.

"I could defend him," he said slowly, picking at his teeth with a tooth pick. Lucille sighed, not wanting to ask the question that curled on her tongue, sour and bitter. Money.

She worked at a restaurant and after rent and bills and money for gas and food what did she have left? How could she pay this man?

But the thought was passing, of course she'd pay him. There was more than one way to skin a cat, as her mother had been fond of saying. She'd get another job, she'd sell all their possessions, she'd sell her body on the street corner before she let a public defender take Daniel's life into his overworked hands.

…………………………x……………………x……………………..x…………………

"Let's go visit Johnny, huh, Dal?" Ponyboy said. Dallas was smoking and he had a dark, dangerous look on his face. Like he was thinking about squeezing the life out of Bill.

Bill hadn't come back as both boys knew he wouldn't. Ponyboy thought it was kinda funny, Dal's murderous look. Dal wasn't mad so much that Bill took the car and Buck would beat the tar out of Dal for that. No. Dallas was mad he'd been crossed.

"And how are we supposed to get there?" Dallas said, lighting a cigarette from the end of the last one. Chain smoking. Ponyboy looked at him patiently. He knew it was nothing for Dally to hot wire a car. Hell, even Ponyboy knew how.

Dallas stared at him, pitched the cigarette half smoked into the ashtray, stood up.

"Alright. Let's go,"

………………………….x…………………….x………………..x…………

Bill drove, feeling the tension ease as the miles slipped under him, as he left the San Fernando Valley behind.

He adjusted the rearview mirror, glanced in it. The black cadillac had been behind him for awhile now. Bill looked again, could it be? No. No, of course not. But when he took a turn they took a turn and Bill's stomach turned to ice, his mouth was dry, his head felt like a helium balloon, ready to float away.

He was driving a stretch of highway that went through nothing, barren fields, blue/gold sky, emptiness. He saw the black cadillac, black hole, the world cut away in the shape of a car.

"Oh fuck me," Bill said, and squeezed his eyes shut, let go of the steering wheel.

………………..x……………………………x………………….x……………….

Ponyboy was amazed at the redwoods. They reached up for the sky and were somehow majestic. Each one was like a cathedral. The sunlight slanted in between them, all gold and dusty, red needles beneath their feet.

The old hippie church was falling apart, the wood looked gray. Johnny was sleeping inside.

"Wake up," Dallas said, kicking at the rotting pew Johnny was lying on.

"Hey, Dal. Hey, Ponyboy," He sat up, rubbing his eyes, "are the cops after me?"

Dallas grinned, brushed the dust off the pew and sat down.

"No. Get this. You know that kid you met at the beach, the one who threw his bike away?" Johnny nodded.

"They arrested him. The kids who jumped you were looking for him, that other kid. They told the cops that you were him, Daniel LaRusso, somethin' like that,"

"What?" Johnny glanced at Ponyboy, squinted at Dallas, "they arrested that kid?"

"Yeah. Yeah. Isn't that great?"

Ponyboy looked from Dallas to Johnny, intrigued by their differing reactions. Dallas looked evilly happy, only concerned that Johnny stay out of trouble. Johnny stared hard at his sneakers, ran his hand through his hair.

"He didn't do it," Johnny said softly.

"Yeah, no shit. But at least the cops ain't huntin' for you,"


End file.
